


Carnival Surprises

by Entwife_Incognito



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: F/M, Fluffy Smut, Outdoor Sex, silly smut, smutty smut smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:00:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24827203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entwife_Incognito/pseuds/Entwife_Incognito
Summary: Slightly farcical one-shot. Jane and Lisbon in an irresistible, adventurous meeting. Date night away from the baby(s). It gets off to a fast start, so shoo the kiddies.Originally published on Tumblr on December 2, 2015.
Relationships: Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon
Kudos: 33





	Carnival Surprises

**Author's Note:**

> The Mentalist? Not mine, and I make no money from these stories.

Lisbon had kissed him all evening, hands all over him as they walked along. Jane felt a strong tug as his wife whirled him into place in her arms. “What’s got you so horny? A smell? A sight? Me, in the fresh air?” He poured heated breath as he purred into her ear. “Tell me.”

“What? So you can spring it on me whenever you want a juicy quickie?” 

“You bet!” 

“Does it take anything except you and me to be in the same room?” 

“Sometimes not even that. Maybe you’ve noticed. We’re not in a room. We’re out in the open.” 

“It’s the carnival, Jane! No one knows us here.” Making quick work of his vest buttons, Lisbon gripped his lapels and pulled him hard against her blouse, breasts rubbing their erect points onto his thin shirt. 

No bra. Jane’s mind went dark before the colors of fire sizzled around the edges, so peripheral that he heard it rather than saw it. When it flamed up his spine, he jammed his hips hard, flattening her back and snaking against the pelvic bone she hunched along the rigid dick in his pants. He ached to be naked and inside her, balls already rising. When she turned that wild libido loose, he was deliciously helpless. 

The back of Lisbon’s hoodie mopped the dust of ancient baked-on paint eroding from sheet metal, and when she arched, it coated the butt of her jeans. Her grip was firm as she grappled with her husband in the darkness at the back of the funnel cake truck. She sucked his tongue, kneading it with her mouth. It always drove him crazy, made him ready to fuck himself to madness whether she tagged along or not. It made her hot as hell to have him in her body, focused on his satisfaction and totally out of control. 

Jane extracted his tongue. She knew what she was doing to him. “You may not know people here, but I do.” Words. Just words. Blood steaming through his veins, Patrick pressed a now immense hard-on against Teresa, squashing her against the trailer wall. 

“You don’t care. How many times have you had furtive sex in dark places smelling of cotton candy, dirt and corn dogs?” She had to gasp her way through what seemed like a long speech. The buttonhole popped as she opened the waistband of her jeans. Unzipping them ripped the night. Jesus! The vibration traveled by slick from her swollen clit to her fucking ovaries. They both gasped and resumed a deep, begging, impatient kiss – desperate with attempts to breathe so they could keep going. 

Jane swam in a river of vague youthful body memory, distracting him from her question. She didn’t want an answer. She just wanted him to find that insatiable horny rush. So rare. So compelling. He didn’t have a cell in his body that would spurn Teresa with her blood this high. Like this, she could have him in the bowl of a light-soaked, sold-out stadium. Focus collapsing … taken by her whispered spells and kisses, her touch, his senses saturated, surrendered, only her. “They’re nothing to what you do to me.” His hushed voice rasped between them and he held her tighter. “In my pants … Put your hand on me.” He swallowed, his lungs a bellows, his throat dry. “I don’t want to come in my pants without your hand on my cock, Teresa.” 

“No, not enough tonight, darling!” Panting, she unbuttoned and unzipped him, deft as magic. “I’m just another carnie girl. Now get your pants down and fuck me before we’re caught!” 

Sliding up her ribs, pulling him from his edging orgasm, his hands had other ideas, bringing a deep groan when he grazed her breasts. His touch was light and tantalizing, a constant susurrus of his knuckles under her blouse, of his fingertips on her skin, her taut nipples. When he started roughing them, she could wait no longer and opened his jeans, pushing them to the bottom of his hips. 

His cock leapt out. For a moment, it looked bruised in the low light, purple and red with raucous blood, restricted by its pressure in his pants. Free in her hand, it grew, and the blood gave the unyielding shaft an even, deep blush, the head purplish and swollen. 

He was scalding. Like iron from a forge, his flesh branded her hand. “You’re gonna burn my fingers, fuck-boy.” He swelled even tighter and made a whining sound, pumping through her tight fist. 

Talking dirty. She wanted him to lose his mind. Her fingers rippled over his flesh as he moved. “God damn, Teresa. My scalp is tingling. You’re gonna make me faint if you don’t let me inside.” 

She rotated her palm on the slick head of his cock. “That would be a notch on my belt … making you swoon in my arms. Don’t wait on me, Patrick. Show me how much you want it.” 

Shoving both hands into her jeans, he pushed them to her knees and she stamped them lower so that she could open her legs more easily. They would bind her calves, but she couldn’t completely undress here. His large hands wrestled impatiently inside the ass of her skimpy panties until, with a sound like a rubber band snapping, they broke loose on one side. He pulled them out of the way, cupped her ass with both hands and forced her hips up and forward. 

Teresa gasped, crazed by her needy clit and the drawing of her womb. She opened her legs as wide as she could. “Now. Now . . . please … I need you.” 

Patrick’s mouth watered when he smelled Teresa’s sex, steamy sweet and full of lust. Fitting a finger along the slit, he slid it slowly back and forth, watching her excitement boil over until she slowly shook her head, moaning to cope with the stimulation. His wet finger spread her moisture over the head of his cock before he wedged it between her labia. They were warm and full, enticing as he held his tip to her clitoris, making short gentle thrusts. It was a pebble, a pearl, sliding wickedly in the wet they created. 

Teresa’s voice went suddenly high and loud as she came and he forced his mouth roughly over hers, muffling his own low calls. Then he slid into her and growled. She was fire, ember hot and dripping slippery to his balls, still quivering inside. 

“I’m gonna fuck you until we both scream, Teresa. Tell me you want it. Tell me dirty.” 

Her rough whisper was loud in his ear. “Stop talking and shove that monster all the way. Fuck me hard. I don’t care if you topple this truck! Give me that dick - Now!” 

Patrick’s last conscious image was a phantasm of the truck going over and funnel cakes flying like Frisbees to the Ferris wheel. The laugh choked in his throat as deeper need drove him to move, dancing inside Teresa, if a jackhammer could be said to dance. Bound below the knees, she moved, too, insistent, deep in her own rut. 

Her muscles bore down on his cock, clamping tight and suddenly in deep spasm as he thrust along the path formed by her strong thighs. One last drowning breath and he came, shooting semen into her until it seeped out to slick their thighs. 

Rocking into her felt so good that he slowed but could not stop until Teresa moaned and slumped against him. After a short break to allow their breathing to calm, he lifted her free with a slurpy pop, supporting her while she got her pants up and fastened, then did the same for him. Shaking a leg, her torn panties finally fell out of her jeans to her ankle where she could pull them off, a flash of red as she stuffed them into her pocket. 

He kissed her. “Jesus, Lisbon.” Leading her around the truck to a picnic table, he let her flop onto the bench. “I’ll get us some lemonade.” 

“Please. I think you screwed every drop of juice from my body.” 

Pride and love swelled in his chest, seeing his wife so well-fucked, her eyes still dilated as she tried to smooth her wild hair into place. Patrick looked at her raw, puffy lips and red cheeks, then shook his head, laughing softly and rubbing his hair. It was lank with sweat. Damp-creased, his shirt hung unevenly inside and out of his pants. Adjusting his sticky genitals, he shuffled to the business side of the truck. 

“Two big lemonades.” Patrick fumbled in his pockets for the money. “Patrick Jane. That was you on the back of my truck?” 

Jane looked at the man, trying to place him. 

“Have you looked at yourself? Nothing else makes a man look like that, boy-o. Makes you look like you’re fifteen again.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Who’s the lucky girl?” 

“Kip?” Jane’s face reddened with a small, guilty smile. “My wife … but she wouldn’t like you to know . . . what we were doing.” His nod was a request to Kip to keep it on the down low. 

Kip winked and raised his right hand as an oath of silence. 

“You still with Bonnie?” His hair thin and wispy, Kip was round now, a tribute to the tastiness of his funnel cakes and waffles, no doubt. 

“Yeah, she’s right here. Bon! It’s our own Patrick Jane stirring the cake batter for us. We owe him wages!” 

Bonnie walked over, opened her plump arms wide and hugged Jane over the counter. “Who’s the lucky gal?” 

“His wife—.” 

“Where? What’s her name?” 

Jane gestured with his thumb. “Teresa. Picnic table … Resting.” 

Kip and Bonnie snickered, but Kip gestured a key locking his lips. “Don’t embarrass the woman, Bon.” 

Bonnie winked, already flushed from the hot truck. “What do we owe you for the work, Paddy? I had a nice sit-down and put up my feet. Though I thought we were going over, for a minute.” When she saw Jane’s embarrassed grin, she said, “Don’t worry, boy, it’s a regular occurrence around here at night. Kip sees to it we’re extra-sturdy.” Checking the growing line, she held up a finger. “Uh, bring the missus over. We can’t get out yet.” She went back to their customers. 

Kip chuckled, insisting that Patrick accept the lemonades as his wages, reminding that Bonnie took a break every two hours if he wanted regular work. Laughing, the men shared a slapping handshake and Patrick went back to the picnic table to sit across from Teresa. They gulped in silence for a few minutes. 

“Another ride on the Ferris wheel?” Patrick offered. 

Lisbon covered her mouth and politely released a soft belch. “Not unless you want to. I think I’m properly worn out now.” Her eyes, her smile, were warm and sultry. 

“One little stop and we’ll go home.” “Where?” 

“To meet my old friends who own the funnel cake truck.” 

Teresa’s eyes went wide and she slowly shook her head. 

“I got the lemonade from Kip and Bonnie. They want to meet you.” 

“Ja-ane …” She drained her lemonade noisily and set it aside. 

“It’s too late.” Patrick held out his hand and she took it. When she stepped in front of him, he slapped the dust from her hoodie and spanked it from her jeans. “Don’t let on you know anything.” 

“Know anything what?” 

“That’s the spirit, Lisbon.”


End file.
